'Shattered' Simon Whitfield crashes out of Olympic triathlon

Bruce Arthur, Postmedia Olympic Team08.08.2012

Simon Whitfield's wife Jennie and daughter Pippa cry following the news that Simon, a two-time Olympic medallist, had been knocked out of the race following a crash on the bike during the men's triathlon at the London 2012 Olympic Games on Tuesday, Aug. 7, 2012.Tyler Anderson
/ Postmedia Olympic Team

Canada's Simon Whitfield follows behind coach Jon Brown as he makes his way to talks to reporters after crashing and retreating from the men's triathlon at Hyde Park during the Summer Olympics in London on Tuesday, August 7, 2012.Sean Kilpatrick
/ The Canadian Press

Simon Whitfield, of Canada, exits the water during the men's triathlon at the London 2012 Olympic Games in London, England, Tuesday, August 7, 2012. His race ended shortly after the swim when he crashed his bike.Tyler Anderson
/ Postmedia Olympic Team

Canada's Simon Whitfield talks to reporters after crashing and retreating from the men's triathlon at Hyde Park during the Summer Olympics in London on Tuesday, August 7, 2012.Sean Kilpatrick
/ The Canadian Press

An Olympic employee looks on as Simon Whitfield, of Canada, warms up before the start of the men's triathlon at the London 2012 Olympic Games in London, England, Tuesday, August 7, 2012. His race ended shortly after the swim when he crashed his bike.Tyler Anderson
/ Postmedia Olympic Team

Simon Whitfield, of Canada, looks on before the start of the men's triathlon at the London 2012 Olympic Games in London, England, Tuesday, August 7, 2012. His race ended shortly after the swim when he crashed his bike.Tyler Anderson
/ Postgmedia Olympic Team

Canada's Simon Whitfield looks on before the start of the men's triathlon at the London 2012 Olympic Games in London on Tuesday, Aug. 7, 2012. His race ended shortly after the swim when he crashed his bike.Tyler Anderson
/ Postmedia Olympic Team

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LONDON — He didn’t lose it until he saw Jennie, Jennie and Pippa and Evelyn, together under the grandstand. Simon Whitfield had already had his left toe stitched back together, and his shredded knees and shins patched up, and his aching collarbone examined, and the bump on his head checked out. He knew his time as an Olympian was over, and he was gutted. But he didn’t fall apart until he saw his wife.

“I’ve never seen Simon upset,” Jennie said, after shepherding the kids back to the hotel. “We’ve been together 10 years, and I’ve never seen him that shattered. He just put everything into preparing for this.”

This wasn’t how it was supposed to end for Simon Whitfield, in his fourth and final Olympics. He had come out of the water 15th, right where he wanted to be, swimming with guys he couldn’t usually swim with. He ran to his bike, which he had modified with time trial tires and time trial handlebars, plus an aerodynamic helmet, because he knew he would have to make up time on the bike to catch the group led by the Brownlee brothers. He was 37 years old, and he did everything he could.

He got out onto the course, and reached to put his bare feet into his bike shoes just as he hit a speed bump. He wobbled. He was clipped from behind. He fell. He apologized to the man he took down. It was over, just like that.

“That was not how I pictured the script ending,” Whitfield said. His coach, Jon Brown, said, “Something stupid, really. Just a bad accident.”

And he got taken to medical, and he got stitched up, and he watched the race and cheered for his old friend Javier Gomez, the man he out-kicked on the way to silver in Beijing, the man who would win the silver medal this time. The lead group turned into a group of 20, and Whitfield would have been a part of it. He would have found out how the barrels of suffering he had endured this year would hold up, on the run. He might not have won, against Alistair and Jonathan Brownlee, and Gomez. But he would have found out what was left.

Instead he limped out, and he saw Jennie and the kids. Evelyn, two, wasn’t quite sure what was happening, but five-year-old Pippa had got up at 5:30, and kept asking her mom “When’s the race?”, and after her mom explained that sad days happen, she picked her dad a bunch of maple leaves, to make him feel better. And under the grandstand she saw mom and dad in tears, and she burst into tears, too.

“Yeah, it was hard,” Whitfield said, looking down, trying not to come undone again. “It was hard to see my daughter upset, my wife upset, and I was pretty upset. Ah, that’s life. That means it means something, doesn’t it?

“The hard part’s the sacrifices, and to be away so much. My breakdown moment was seeing my wife because I know what Jennie puts into this, and we’re a team, and she puts in so much sacrifice, being at home a lot, alone. That was the hardest part.”

He’s been doing this at the highest level for well over a decade, because Jennie agreed they would be a team. So Simon spent half the year on the road, training in New Zealand or Hamilton or wherever, trying everything for one last race. He was right where he wanted to be. And then he wasn’t.

“I guess it’s the law of averages,” he said. “I guess you’re eventually going to hit that one. You race enough, and I’ve been in enough big races — I’ve had two incredible races at Olympics, I’ve had one pretty good race, and I’ve had now that race.”

“When he was younger he didn’t carry the load of everybody else,” said Jennie. “I think he felt like he was carrying all of us. All you really want is Simon to go out and have a day that reflects all the hard work. He didn’t have to have a medal. There wasn’t anything he could have done today to make me more proud of him. I don’t regret anything of what we’ve done.

“This isn’t how I wanted it to end, obviously,” added Jennie. “But in a way, I’m relieved the race is over.”

Whitfield tried to keep perspective, too. “I said all along,” he said, “if I had a shiny object or not I was going to be at the park tomorrow, after I cheer on Adam van Koeverden as he chases down medal number four.”

He wants to go mountain-biking with Jennie and not worry about crashing, and jeopardizing a competition. He wants to get a babysitter and go out with Jennie to see his friend Hawksley Workman in concert, and goof around on the drums afterwards without worrying about having to go to bed early. He wants to see his girls pick flowers. When Jennie hugged him he told her his left collarbone hurt, and she said, “you can still drink beer with your right hand, right?” And they laughed. They have the rest of their life to get back to, now.

But first, we should settle the accounts. Simon Whitfield has been one of our greatest Olympians, all the way along. His gold in Sydney was a delight; his silver in Beijing, chasing down the best triathletes in the world in hellish heat, was one of the greatest things this nation has ever seen. He has lived the Olympic spirit, as his friend Clara Hughes always puts it. He has done us proud.

“I’ll tell you what it means,” said Whitfield. “I see my friend Ted Jennings from Kingston, Ont.... he’s been to every Olympics and come to see me, and we grew up across the street from each other, and we always laugh — who knew I’d go on to ...”

He trailed off, for a second.

“I could play the longest, but when we played street hockey, I was the last kid to be picked. I played the longest, but I wasn’t very good. I don’t know if I ever dreamed of four Olympics, two medals, flagbearer; I’m absolutely blown away by the whole thing.”

A grand enterprise, all of it. Time to go home.

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